


Tell me again

by yuuago



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuuago/pseuds/yuuago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago, Iceland told Norway what he wanted.</p>
<p>Nor/Ice, see tags for further details.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell me again

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks in advance for reading. :)
> 
> Written for the Whale Pair fest at Livejournal. Special thanks to Tinediserp, Kainoliero, and Anonymous for the encouragement.
> 
> Ao3 is not my usual posting venue; everything else is under the name roesslyng at Dreamwidth.

Iceland always set aside his birthday to spend with his people. Well, all right, it wasn't his birthday, it was his national day; but since he couldn't remember exactly when he'd popped into existence, then he'd decided that his national day would be just as good as anything else. There wasn't any harm in calling it a birthday and celebrating it that way, none at all. So he kept June 17th to himself, and to his people, and kept it as something special all for himself.

And that was why the more private celebration - the _other_ celebration - always happened a few days after the Seventeenth, after everything settled down and he was more willing to spend time with his family. Doing it that way was more convenient, as far as Iceland was concerned. Doing it _before_ that would mean that it'd be too soon. Letting himself get overshadowed by both Denmark and Sweden, who had their birthdays back-to-back? Even if they were low-key about it, it was impossible to get past the ruckus that accompanied Denmark any time he was involved in anything. No, Iceland wouldn't do it that way.

It was bad enough to have everything lumped so close together in the first few weeks of June; it'd be even worse to get overlooked. So, he thought, it was better to push it all back a little. Have the Seventeenth all to himself, and then after that take some time for family. And usually it would only be one of nations in his family, too. Sometimes he'd ask Finland to spend time with him, sometimes Denmark. Last year it had been Sweden.

This year he'd decided to invite Norway.

Iceland glanced at the clock on the wall as he put away the last of the coffee mugs he'd been washing. It was almost the time that Norway had said he would arrive, and knowing his brother, he'd get there right on the dot, just as the clock chimed, and that was really too bad, because Iceland wouldn't mind if he took his time and ended up a bit late.

It wasn't that he didn't want him there at all! Of course not. He'd invited him, hadn't he? And Norway had seemed to like the suggestion he'd had - to just stay together at home for the first day to catch up a little, and then a week of camping, you know, some time in the good old outdoors, they both liked that sort of thing every now and then. No, it wasn't that he didn't want Norway around at all.

... It was only that Iceland wasn't sure he could stand to spend a whole _week_ being under Norway's criticizing eye. Even with the things that he did like about him, _that_ was something he'd usually avoid at all costs.

Iceland huffed and closed the cabinet. Maybe you should have thought about that before you told him it'd be for a week, he said to himself. Well, it was too late for second thoughts, not with his brother practically on his doorstep and--

There was a knock on the door.

_Shit_.

Iceland breathed deeply as he folded the dishcloth. Come on, calm down, get it together. Look cool. Another knock followed, this time more impatient-sounding, and he called out "Hang on, just a minute!"

No good. The sound of the door opening followed before he even finished what he'd been saying. Typical. Iceland sighed, set the dishcloth aside, and stepped out of the kitchen.

Just as he expected, there was his brother in the doorway. He'd already stepped out of his shoes, set down his overnight bag, and began taking off his jacket, comfortable as he pleased, as if he owned the place. It was true that he had visited Iceland more than enough times over the years, but that was stretching it a bit far. 

Iceland cleared his throat. "So, uh. You're here." Smooth, he thought, cringing inwardly as soon as the words left his lips. 

"'S that how y'greet yer brother, then," Norway replied, giving him the sort of look that he had when it seemed like he couldn't decide whether to be amused or annoyed. "C'mere, let's take a look at ya'. See if you look any older."

Though Iceland didn't like the thought of being called over like a child, he knew there was no point in arguing, so he stepped toward Norway and stood as straight as he could while Norway touched at his hair, tucking a strand of it behind his ear in a gesture that made him feel as if he were two feet shorter than he actually was. "I put the coffee on," Iceland said, and the words thankfully came out sounding as firm and confident and grown-up as he wanted them to.

"Hmm." Norway hardly seemed to hear him, ignoring the remark as he put his fingertips under Iceland's chin and tilted his head upward, even if they could almost look each other in the eye without him doing that. "Stressed," he said after a moment, then let go of Iceland in favour of continuing to unbutton his jacket, as if he'd passed judgment and by all means, that was that.

"Stressed?" Iceland repeated, instinctively reaching out to take his brother's jacket from him, even after that whole _examination_ or whatever it was.

"Aye, got yourself a bit've nerves," Norway said, letting him take it to hang on a peg on the wall. "Ought to have yerself a lie-down." And without further ado he turned Iceland and gently pushed him in the direction of the bedroom, as if he wouldn't hear any protest for that, no sir.

Fat chance. Iceland dug in his heels, even as he could feel himself blushing again. " _Nor_ , I'm fine! I'm not a kid, I don't need a -" he groped for the words, feeling exasperated already. "A, y'know, mid-day nap." Suddenly, it was perfectly clear why he didn't invite Norway over more frequently. It hadn't been five minutes since he let himself in, but Iceland was already fed up with him.

"Accordin' to who? Reckon I could do with a bit've rest myself, after the time it took for gettin' over here." And if the tone in Norway's voice was anything to go by, he wouldn't hear any arguments about it.

 

No amount of resistance did Iceland any good, and before he knew it Norway nudged him through the bedroom door, neatly edged it shut with his foot, then pushed him down onto the bed quick-as-you please. There was a businesslike nature to his actions, a "won't take no for an answer" hint to it, and Iceland knew that kind of thing far too well.

"Come _on_ Nor, I don't need-"

"Oh, yes y'do." Norway sank down onto the bed beside him, curling up close. It was clear he wouldn't put up with any arguing. "Didn't greet me proper, neither."

"Is _that_ what this is about?" Iceland huffed, blew his bangs out of his face, and stared up at the ceiling. He never could make sense of Norway's actions, and he didn't need to turn his head to know that Norway was staring at him with his usual impenetrable expression, no doubt about it, he was 100% sure.

There was a pause, and for a moment Iceland wondered if he should have said that, but then Norway spoke. "'Course it is." Norway's voice softened as he edged close. "Y'forgot summat."

_That_ was different. Iceland recognized that voice. It was quieter, gentler, more coaxing than what he'd usually hear, and it was nothing at all like the kind of voice Norway might use on him in public or when criticising and nitpicking at him. He turned to look at him, and when Norway touched his face and tucked the stray strand of hair behind his ear again, Iceland didn't complain about it, because suddenly he knew what was going on.

It was going to be one of those visits, was it.

The light touch was followed by a kiss. Iceland should have expected it from the beginning, but then again Norway insisting on him having an afternoon nap as if he was some kind of kid wasn't something he would put past him, either. But _that_ , the press of Norway's lips on his mouth and the sensation of long fingers in his hair, was something that Iceland found a lot more welcome than anything else.

He never could tell when one of Norway's visits would take a more physically affectionate turn. Sometimes he would show up and be nothing more than the cold, criticising older brother, and other times he was - well, still criticising, but less cold, alternating his fussing gesture and insistence that Iceland stand up straighter and look alert with, in contrast, something more intimate and more wanted and not brotherly at all.

If only he'd be more consistent about it, Iceland thought as Norway gently pressed him to the mattress and kissed him more firmly and nudged his legs apart. It was as if Norway couldn't decide what he wanted to be: his older brother, or his -- whatever.

But sometimes, every once in a while, in private, it was perfectly clear. Well, it was as clear as the lips on his jaw and the hands that slid over Iceland's hips, anyway. Iceland shut his eyes, wrapped his arms around Norway's shoulders, and relaxed against the bed, resolving to forget about trying to figure his brother out for a while. He never would understand him, anyway.

Besides, he thought to himself as he opened his mouth for him, you started this. You're the one who turned everything around and got it going in this direction to begin with.

 

The first time they kissed, it had been all Iceland's doing. Tired of being treated like a child when what he really wanted was something else, he'd gathered all his courage and done what seemed to make sense at the time: grabbed Norway by the shirt, ignored the "Th' hell are you doing?" from Norway, and kissed him as hard as he could.

It hadn't been the best kiss, not even a very good one either, but the look on Norway's face afterward was worth it. It was even worth having to explain himself. "I'm not a kid," he'd said, giving Norway the most serious look he could manage. "And I don't want to call you my big brother. Okay?"

Strangely enough, their relationship hadn't changed much after that. There had only been some additions to it, as if Norway had decided to ignore everything he said as usual, and only pay attention to the parts that fit with whatever he wanted. But Iceland found that even with that, he couldn't complain - even if Norway still kept on pushing him around and teasing him and refusing to let the whole brother thing go sometimes in private things were different, and sometimes they both managed to get what they wanted.

It was June, Iceland thought as he tangled his fingers in Norway's hair and kissed him as hard as he could. It had been a few days after the Seventeenth when he'd done that, grabbed him and kissed him and told him that. Maybe it made sense that Norway would do this now, then, with it practically being the anniversary of that time Iceland managed to muster up enough confidence to assert himself in front of him. Or maybe it was just that Norway was doing whatever he felt like doing as usual, and it had nothing to do with him or the particular date at all.

Whichever it was, and whatever Norway had planned, Iceland was ready. He'd been ready since Norway pressed him down and pressed his mouth against his own, and while the tightness in his trousers was embarrassing, Iceland couldn't deny that he liked the way Norway nudged his thigh between his legs as he held him down against the mattress. He arched up against him, grinding up against his brother's thigh, and made a noise against his mouth without really meaning to. Norway snorted in response and Iceland was sure that if he hadn't been busy kissing him he would have laughed instead.

Just to get back at him, Iceland reached for the strand of hair at the back of Norway's head and wrapped it around his finger. The noise Norway made _then_ was definitely not the almost-laugher from before, and it was all that Iceland could do to keep from grinning against his mouth.

When his brother pulled away to give him a stern look, which was in bright contrast to his blushing cheeks, Iceland obediently let him go, biting at his lip to stop himself from _looking_ like he was holding back laughter, though if Norway's expression was anything to judge by, it wasn't working at all.

For a moment, Norway stared at him. Then he dipped his head and, keeping his voice low, whispered by his ear. "Now, just what d'you think you're doing, here."

Iceland's eyes flew open. He knew he'd have to say something, but the words just wouldn't come out. It didn't help that he could feel Norway's lips brushing against his ear, his warm breath tickling, and everything about him suddenly much too close and much too warm and making him suddenly painfully conscious of the position he was in: Norway over him, pressing him down. The ache between his legs, his thighs spread wide. Norway's lips by his ear.

"Um," Iceland said. Great, he thought. That's a really intelligent response, there. Perfect. But Norway's question didn't escape him. What _was_ he doing. He clung to his brother's shirt and nibbled at his lip and tried to think of something to say that wouldn't sound stupid.

Norway had other ideas. He drew back enough to look Iceland in the face. There was a familiar expression in his eye, a look that said "Don't even go thinking of saying anything", and without a word he pressed his fingers to Iceland's lips. 

Obediently, Iceland waited. Didn't say anything, just looked up at his brother, waiting, because he knew that something would come after that.

Then the touch was gone from his lips, and Norway moved downward.

 

The sound of the zipper being pulled down was too loud in the quiet room and Iceland could hardly breathe when he heard it. Even though Norway was perfectly clear about what he meant to do, it still surprised Iceland, just like it did every time. He closed his eyes and waited and bit at his lip as he felt Norway's hands at his hips, the slim but strong fingers working at his clothing to move it down and out of the way.

He hissed when he felt his brother's tongue on him. Couldn't help it. Even though he tried to keep himself firm and steady and under control, not giving in too easily, his body had other ideas. And just like he couldn't stop himself from making noise as Norway swept his tongue along the shaft, he couldn't stop his hips from jerking a little either.

"Hold still, will you."

Norway's lips brushed against his cock as he spoke. Iceland drew in a shaky breath, nodded even though he was pretty sure that there wasn't any chance that Norway could see it from where he was, and let his eyes flutter open to stare at the ceiling.

At first he tried to stay quiet, but then he remembered what Norway had said to him one, just one time, before they had really done this kind of thing all that much. Before either of them had really gotten used to - it. This. Each other. Whatever the relationship they had could be called, anyway. He could remember the brush of Norway's lips against his neck as he spoke and the way his fingertips slid along his thigh with a touch that was impossibly light but still more than enough to make Iceland shiver. "Don't go trying to stay quiet. I want to hear you. Understand?"

It sure hadn't been a request then, and even now Iceland was sure that it wouldn't be a request either. Even if Norway didn't say it - he was a bit _busy_ \- he was probably thinking it.

Thinking back to that, Iceland sighed, relaxed, and decided to just enjoy everything. It wasn't every day that his brother was so insistent about doing something for him, anyway. So he  
gave up on keeping his hands to himself, allowing himself the indulgence of sliding his fingers through Norway's hair, and when his lips parted to let the sounds slip out he didn't make any effort to keep quiet, either.

Even as he groaned softly under the attentions of Norway's mouth, he could hear the sounds he made as he did it, the slick, slow wet sound of his cock sliding past his brother's lips again and again. And he knew without having to look or to ask that Norway liked it, all of it. Iceland, sighed, let his eyes stay shut, and imagined that he saw him the way that he'd seen him many times; his eyes shut, his lashes low and brushing against his flushed cheeks, his hair falling in his - oh, right.

With trembling fingers, he moved his hand to brush Norway's bangs up and out of his face, holding them out of the way. In return, he got renewed effort. Well, not _effort_ , no, Norway always seemed to do _that_ kind of thing without having to make any effort at all. Norway wasn't like Iceland, who still felt like he didn't know what he was doing after all these years, even if Norway always seemed satisfied enough after everything. No, it was more like instead of effort, it was appreciation, because Norway set to his work with vigour, apparently glad to have his hair out of his face as he - as he -- Iceland flushed, barely even able to think of the phrase even if he could picture exactly what was happening. He was sure his cheeks were deep red. Even with Norway sucking him off, he could hardly even think about it. He knew he wouldn't be able to _say_ it.

But oh, he sure could picture it. Iceland knew exactly how Norway looked. For sure he had his lips wrapped tight around Iceland's cock, that mouth that normally only gave him criticism instead indulging him, pleasing him, taking him in deep, deep, deeper. He could hear Norway breathing slowly in time with what he was doing and feel the movement of his hands as they touched him absolutely everywhere. Fingertips sliding over what Norway's lips didn't touch, damp from his mouth. Trailing over Iceland's hips, along the bones, down low to grab at his ass, cup his balls, press at his thighs and force him to spread them wider.

Norway was enjoying himself.

Iceland could be absolutely sure about that, without a doubt, because no matter how many times they did things like this Norway was the same. So insistent that he was almost demanding, firm in both his orders and his hands as he pressed Iceland down against the bed or the wall or the kitchen counter or back into his chair, giving orders while he nudged his legs apart, then going about his business with a look of absolute bliss on his face. In some ways, Iceland thought as he tried not to shiver and failed, it was hard to tell who got more enjoyment out of this: himself, or his brother.

It wouldn't surprise Iceland one bit if the front of Norway's trousers was tight. He was always hard at times like this. It was as if he got off on getting _him_ off, and the thought of that was almost too much for Iceland to take. Whimpering, he gripped at Norway's hair and tried to keep himself from jerking up against his mouth. If that was the case, he would have to help him with that soon, but Iceland didn't mind at all. 

He knew that it wasn't that Norway got off on him in particular. Nobody got that good at what Norway was doing with his mouth if they didn't do it a lot, Iceland thought, tilting his head back and groaning softly as Norway took him in again. And it was just a fact: it hadn't been so many years since that one afternoon a few days after June seventeenth, a day just like this one, that they'd done it for the first time. But even if he knew better than to think that Norway would only ever want to be with him, and only him, in that moment it wasn't hard to pretend that he did.

Iceland wound his fingers in Norway's hair and shuddered as he felt more than heard his brother moan at his touch.

"Nor, I-"

He finished before he could finish speaking.

 

After that, Iceland waited. Waited for Norway to move, to say something, anything. At first he was aware of nothing except for the sound of him breathing, low and rough and uneven. Then Iceland felt him move, the mattress shifting under his weight, and soon Norway draped himself next to him, his body warm against Iceland's own. That warmth and the press of the hardness against his thigh was a presence that was something that he just couldn't resist.

Iceland knew he was blushing; he could feel it, and he knew how he must have looked, his cheeks and neck and ears red and embarrassing. His breathing was too quick and he tried to even it out with little success. The last thing he wanted was for Norway to know just how affected he was by his hands, lips, tongue, everything. Or _was_ that the last thing he wanted? Maybe it would be better to show him just how much he'd enjoyed it. How much he had wanted him, even if all that hadn't been what Iceland had expected when Norway let himself in the door that day.

Not that he could ever imagine Norway being insecure about se- about - well, about that kind of thing. But maybe it would be better to let him know. Show some appreciation, Iceland thought. Isn't that how he would put it?

He took a deep breath and then turned toward his brother. Norway watched him. His dark eyes were low, his cheeks warm, his hair mussed and falling from its clip.

His lips were damp.

Before he could lose his nerve, Iceland tilted his head and kissed him. He could feel his brother give, sighing as he eased and relaxed against him. Norway opened his mouth and after hesitating for half a second Iceland slid his tongue past his lips, blushing even more deeply as he realized that he could taste himself in his brother's mouth. As he kissed him, Norway pressed against him, utterly unshy about what else pressed, even rubbing up against Iceland's thigh and letting out a soft moan that made Iceland shudder.

Well. Iceland sighed against his brother's mouth and then pulled away to dip his head and graze his lips against Norway's neck. While he wouldn't admit it to anyone, he wanted to hear the sounds that he made. He liked knowing that he was the one who caused it. Even if he knew better, he could pretend that he was the only one who could get him to make those noises.

He carefully slid one of his hands under Norway's head, cupping it gently and letting his fingers twine in his hair. Then, gathering as much nerves, he let his other hand dip downward, trailing his fingers along his brother's side, along his hip and waist until finally he dipped them to press against the bulge at the front of Norway's pants.

As Norway gasped and rocked against his palm, Iceland smiled against his neck. That was what he wanted.

 

After everything was finished and they'd both had more than enough of each other, they stayed on the bed together for a while, resting together in silence. Iceland didn't want to speak. If he said something, it might ruin the moment. He remembered the greeting he'd received earlier that day, Norway cold and yet overbearing in his affection, and decided that he didn't want to go back to that. It was better to just stay together on the bed, with his brother resting quietly against him, his breathing slow and even and any judgment he might cast on him remaining unsaid. Though Iceland had to admit, it was quite a contrast between that and the feverish moaning Iceland had heard earlier as he finished him off.

Later, he thought, they would have coffee together. They would sit at the table together and carry on an awkward conversation, as usual. But it wouldn't be quite as awkward as it might have been if they hadn't - if they hadn't gotten _intimate_. It was easier for Iceland to not take Norway's criticism personally if he remembered what it was like to have him down between his knees only an hour earlier.

Iceland stared up at the ceiling. It was strange, he thought, the way that they did things, the two of them getting together just like they had on that one day that seemed like a long time ago but really wasn't, not in comparison to the long time they had known each other. That day that he had grabbed Norway and kissed him might well have been the same day as this one.

After all, it had been only a few days after his birthday, wasn't it? After his Constitution Day.

Norway stirred beside him. He shifted, then sat up and raked is fingers through his hair, which had been rendered unruly from Iceland's clinging. "Y'said you put the coffee on," he murmured, his voice slightly hoarse, or maybe it was just Iceland's imagination. "Ought to have a cup, don't you think."

Back to normal, then.

But as Norway reached down to touch his face, stroking it with an affection that he normally wasn't quite so free with, Iceland decided that it didn't matter if they would have some awkward conversations, or if the upcoming week would be full of Norway pushing him around and nitpicking his every word. The warmth in that touch and the memory of that day from years ago was worth it.

All of it.

The End


End file.
